


The question

by Lilac_the_wolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder, Protective Mycroft, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilac_the_wolf/pseuds/Lilac_the_wolf
Summary: Mycroft is always observing Sherlock. So when a certain criminal get too close to his little brother, he invites him to ask a simple question.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 19
Kudos: 21





	The question

Moriarty had been waiting for over an hour. He knew it was done on purpose. They wanted to see him lose his patience. And by 'they', he meant the person or persons watching him from the various surveillance cameras, more or less well hidden, that were scattered around the room.

He hadn't really been kidnapped. He had been 'invited'. Three men had come to see him, put him in a car, blindfolded him and took him to a place he didn't know. The room he was in was definitely not a cell. It looked more like a library, and Moriarty strongly suspected it was a room in the Diogenes Club. Apart from the bookcases against the walls, there was a desk and two armchairs on either side of the desk. Moriarty was sitting in one of the armchairs and assumed that the other one was for the person who would inevitably come to interrogate him. But for the moment he was still alone.

Moriarty had put his feet on the desk and was looking up at the fan on the ceiling with a relaxed air. He knew that his captors would lose patience long before he did. He was too curious about what they wanted from him to get angry. And he got confirmation of this a few seconds later when the door finally opened. The man entered quickly and closed the door behind him. Moriarty heard the lock click. He smiled. The man had instructed his men to lock them in. Bad idea, Moriarty thought. It was like being locked in a cage with a lion, a lion that was hungry. The man sat down right in front of him, putting his umbrella against the desk.

“I didn't expect you to come in person, Mr Holmes,” Moriarty susurred.

Mycroft looked him straight in the eyes.

“Would you sit down properly, Mr. Moriarty ?” he said.

His tone was cold. Moriarty did not move at all. He left his feets on the desk, content just to look at Mycroft with a little smile.

“I have questions for you,” said Mycroft.

“And I have no answers for you,” Moriarty replied straight away.

Mycroft ignored his answer and took various papers out of his jacket and carefully laid them on the desk in front of him.

“I have questions about the bombing...”

“No,” Moriarty interrupted him.

Mycroft raised his head towards him. Moriarty finally took his feet off the desk. He sat down on the edge of his armchair and leaned over the desk.

“That's not why you brought me here,” Moriarty whispered. “Because you know I won't answer.”

Mycroft replied nothing, staring blankly at the criminal.

“Why am I here ?” Moriarty asked.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment.

“I have a question for you,” said Mycroft. “Just one.”

“I am waiting,” said Moriarty.

Mycroft leaned over the desk as well.

“Why Sherlock ?”

Moriarty smiled broadly. He sank back into his chair.

“So it's personal,” he said.

Mycroft just looked at him with a sombre look on his face.

“Why Sherlock ?” Moriarty repeated without ceasing to smile. “Why not ?”

“There must be a reason,” said Mycroft, without containing his impatience.

Moriarty had a small laugh.

“And I feel that you know that reason,” he said.

The consulting criminal stood up.

“So I don't see why I should tell you.”

“Why Sherlock ?” repeated Mycroft.

Moriarty sighed and walked to one of the bookcases, grabbing randomly one of the books.

“Because I love him,” said Moriarty as he flipped through the pages of the book, “and he loves me.”

Mycroft leapt to his feet. Moriarty put the book down and turned towards him.

“But you understood it, didn't you ? That's why I'm here.”

Mycroft walked towards him until he was just a few feets away.

“Don't ever come near my brother again,” he hissed, without managing to hide his anger any longer.

“Or else what ?” Moriarty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Or I' ll kill you.”

Moriarty had a wide smile.

“Well, go ahead,” he challenged him.

No sooner had he said that that Mycroft pressed him against the bookcase and he felt the cold steel of a blade against his throat. He hadn't even seen him pull the knife out.

“Oh, you are really serious ?” Moriarty said with a surprised but calm look.

“I can't let you hurt my brother,” said Mycroft as calmly as he could.

Moriarty sighed.

“Killing me will only make things worse,” said Moriarty.

“I don't see how,” Mycroft replied.

Moriarty held back from swallowing as he felt the blade shake against his throat.

“Sherlock will be heartbroken.”

“No,” said Mycroft firmly. “He will be freed from your control.”

Moriarty looked him straight in the eyes.

“You really believe that,” he said.

“Yes, I do.”

“But it doesn't mean you're going to kill me.”

Mycroft pressed the knife a little harder against his throat, but not enough to hurt him.

“Yes, it does. I will save my brother.”

“No,” said Moriarty. “You want to save your brother. But you don't have the courage to kill anyone.”

Moriarty could feel the hand holding him as well as the knife shaking.

“You're not a bad enough person for that. You know you should have had me killed by someone else. It's always easier to let someone else do the dirty work.”

Mycroft didn't move for about ten seconds. Moriarty thought for a fraction of a second that he was really going to die. At least it would have been an unexpected twist. But then he felt the knife move away from his throat and the other hand drop him. Mycroft dropped the knife, stepped back and fell to his knees, taking his head in his hands. Moriarty took the time to readjust his jacket before picking up the knife.

“You've made a mistake, Mr Holmes,” said Moriarty.

Mycroft didn't move. He didn't even seem to hear him. He suddenly raised his head when he heard a thud behind the door. Then the lock opened. Mycroft looked at Moriarty. Moriarty smiled at him. Mycroft leapt to his feet and Moriarty snapped his fingers. No sooner had he turned around than the man who had just came in threw himself at him. Mycroft fell to the ground and the man he recognised as Moran pinned him to the ground, holding his wrists. Moriarty walked towards him with the knife in his hand.

“Did you really think, Mr. Holmes, that I would have allowed you to bring me here without a plan to escape ?” Moriarty asked.

Mycroft did not answer. He seemed calm, but Moriarty could see in his eyes that he was beginning to be frightened. Moriarty knelt over Mycroft and placed the tip of the knife against his chest.

“You should have killed me, Mr. Holmes.”

“Because now you are going to do it ?” he asked calmly.

Moriarty smiled, but did not answer. He bent down until their faces were just inches away. Mycroft could feel his breath on his face.

“There isn't enough space for two people in Sherlock's life.”

“Sherlock will never forgive you. He will avenge me,” Mycroft said.

His voice was trembling in spite of himself.

“I'll just have to find a good excuse,” said Moriarty, shrugging his shoulders and straightening up.

He already had several ideas. Moriarty reasserted his grip on the knife.

“It's a pity, though, now that Sherlock is no longer my enemy, you were the last person on my level.”

Mycroft said nothing more, staring at him.

“Aren't you going to beg me for your life ?” Moriarty asked.

“No,” replied Mycroft, clenching his teeth. “It would please you too much.”

Moriarty sighed.

“It's a real, real shame.”

He looked at Mycroft for a moment. He still expected him to try to convince him that killing him was a bad idea. He almost hoped he would. But Mycroft remained perfectly silent. He didn't say a word. He didn't even try to fight back. So Moriarty thrust the blade into his chest. Then he pulled the knife out. Blood came out of his wound and from his mouth. Moriarty looked Mycroft in the eyes. He could see his eyes turning glassy.

“Good night, Mr. Holmes,” Moriarty said softly.

After seeing that he was not moving anymore, he lowered his eyelids with one hand. Moriarty took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood from the corner of Mycroft's mouth.

“There,” he said, putting the handkerchief away. “It looks like he's asleep.”

If we forget his pierced heart, of course. Moriarty got up and Moran did the same.

“Get rid of the evidence,” said Moriarty.

Then he walked out of the room, after taking one last look at Mycroft's lifeless body.

Moriarty went to Baker Street immediately afterwards, without even taking the time to change. He still had blood on his jacket and hands. He purposely walked up the stairs slower than usual. And he opened the door without a word. Sherlock leapt to his feet when he saw him coming in.

“What happened ?” he asked anxiously.

Moriarty walked up to him with his head down and clung to his shirt before raising his head to Sherlock.

“I'm sorry... I had no choice... He tried to kill me,” he whispered.

Sherlock looked at him with confusion. He had realised the blood wasn't his. But he still hadn't understood whose it was.

“Who tried to kill you ?,” Sherlock asked.

Moriarty looked away.

“Your brother,” he muttered.

Sherlock turned pale immediately. He looked at the blood. Moriarty looked at him desperately.

“Forgive me Sherlock... I had no choice...”

Sherlock took a step back.

“Is my brother... dead ?”

Moriarty nodded his head. Sherlock let himself fall into his chair. Moriarty approached and knelt down in front of him, putting his hands on the detective's lap.

“Forgive me,” he repeated. “It was either him or me.”

Sherlock looked at him, his eyes misty.

“He... he shouldn't have tried to kill you.”

Sherlock paused.

“I forgive you,” he finally whispered.

Moriarty smiled at him and stood up, taking him in his arms as a tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek.

“But,” Sherlock whispered, “he was my brother...”

“I know,” Moriarty said. “I'm here for you.”

Sherlock returned his embrace, burying his head against his chest. That way, he couldn't see the satisfied smile on Moriarty's face.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time posting something a bit dark. I hope you liked it !  
> And feel free to leave comments :)


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